


Alive

by EternalFangirl



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: And bam there's Arthur, Arthur comes back, Arthur is sooooo young, But he remembers, Consensual Underage Sex, He finds Merlin, He's still a dollophead, M/M, Merlin is just at home wallowing in despair and guilt, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 06:10:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8001421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EternalFangirl/pseuds/EternalFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has to find Merlin.</p><p>He had thought this for as long as he can remember, and it had driven him through nearly fourteen years of childhood.</p><p>He had to find his manservant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

The storm just spurred him on.

Arthur was soaking wet, his sneakers slipping and sloshing, rainwater running into his eyes so badly that he barely saw the naked tree branches reaching out, as if to slap some sense into him. He skidded and he fell, repeatedly, but he kept going north, resolute.

He had to find Merlin.

That was all he had wanted in his short life. He had always remembered Merlin. The rest–Camelot, Guinevere, his knights–had trickled into his memories, but Merlin was a vivid, grounding existence even in his oldest childhood musings. His name had been Arthur’s first word.

The world had changed so much, though, that Arthur went through periods of feverish hope followed by crushing disappointment. Some of the ridiculous legends about his life suggested Merlin had lived forever, while others insisted he had been imprisoned, or had died. Is that why Albion was in such ruin? It hurt Arthur to think about a world without Merlin.

But today was one of the good days. He was so sure of the latest location he had ferreted out of the shitty computer at the orphanage. Arthur was certain he was going to find Merlin this time. It was the furthest he had ever travelled from the orphanage, but he wasn’t worried. The place held nothing for him anymore. He was a week away from his fourteenth birthday, and no one wanted to adopt a jaded teenage boy. Specially not one that still insisted he was a prince.

A particularly vicious branch struck him hard in the face, making him cry out. “Fuck! Fucking piece of horseshit!” He tried to stop and massage his frozen face, but branches grabbed at his backpack, making him stumble. “Jesus,” he cursed. It was really coming down now.

He wondered what he would say to the occupant of the cottage if they weren’t Merlin. Maybe he could ask to stay the night. He looked younger than he was, and he knew he was pretty. A warm bed to collapse in sounded like heaven right now.

Or he could just pretend to faint on seeing them.

A stunning lightning bolt alleviated the darkness for a few precious seconds, and that was when Arthur saw it. The cottage looked lonely, and morose, like something out of a sad fairytale, but it was currently more dear to Arthur than all his possessions. 

He had found it.

With a jubilant cry and a rejuvenated sprint, Arthur half-slid and half-ran towards the small dwelling. It looked deserted, and it took him a second to discern the light in the downpour.

There was someone out there.

For a few terse moments, Arthur was suddenly unsure. What if all his research had been wrong? What if that bloke back at the pub had only been drunkenly exaggerating? What if…?

Arthur shook off the uncharacteristic doubt. He had barged into places before, to the consternation of his handlers. Why was he suddenly wary?

A loud clap of thunder propelled him into motion, and he jerked forward, adrenaline pumping through his body. He hasn’t felt this surge of… inexplicable grandeur before, like something monumental was happening. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe he was finally losing his mind.

He finally climbed the steps and stood in front of the door, hand raised to knock. There was a brief hesitation before he rapped three quick knocks on the old door.

And then there was silence.

Arthur stood there, wet and shivering, waiting for the door to open, dreading the moment it did. He was hyper-aware of everything in that moment–the water running down his face, the erratic thumping of his young heart, the roar of the downpour, the throaty croaking of the frogs somewhere nearby. He was aware of the lack of noise from inside.

He had finally convinced himself the cottage was empty. Time to go.

But before he could turn back, several things happened at once. A lightbulb flickered to life over his head, the door screeched open and someone stepped out to tower over him. Arthur stumbled back, disoriented and flailing, unsure why he was suddenly so very, very afraid.

And then, finally– _finally_ –for the first time in fourteen years, someone called him by his old name. His proper name.

“Arthur!”

* * *


End file.
